


Tell Me You Love Me (Tell Me Again)

by ragingrainbow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Hellhounds, Ineffable Husbands Bingo (Good Omens), M/M, Pets, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 12:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragingrainbow/pseuds/ragingrainbow
Summary: There’s a box on the floor, with a tartan blanket inside. Crowley stares at it dumbly, and then the blanket startsmoving, a small head emerging and--“Is that ahellhound?!” Crowley splutters, shooting a disbelieving look at Aziraphale.





	Tell Me You Love Me (Tell Me Again)

**Author's Note:**

> For Ineffable Husbands Bingo prompt: Getting a Pet
> 
> Thanks to chaoticlivi for the beta!
> 
> Inspired by the quoted Mary Oliver poem, from which it also got its title. In the end the plot ended up being nothing like the poem, but it still gives me feels, so it got to stay. :)

> _He puts his cheek against mine_  
_and makes small, expressive sounds._  
_And when I’m awake, or awake enough_
> 
> _he turns upside down, his four paws_  
_in the air_  
_and his eyes dark and fervent._
> 
> _“Tell me you love me,” he says._
> 
> _“Tell me again.”_
> 
> _Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over_  
_he gets to ask._  
_I get to tell._

_\- Mary Oliver (Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night)_

* * *

  
Crowley stops dead in his tracks as soon as he’s through the door to the bookshop, so suddenly that Aziraphale nearly walks into his back. Something is _ not right_.  
  
“Wait. Something smells… _ wrong_,” he says, holding out an arm to stop the angel when he tries to get past.  
  
Crowley sniffs the air again, then sticks the tip of his tongue out to taste it. He tenses as he identifies it, panic surging through him. It smells like _ Hell_. 

If Crowley hadn’t been in the bookshop that morning, he might have shrugged it off as a side effect of Adam restoring the shop, but Crowley knows that mere hours ago it smelled as it always did. Okay, perhaps smelled a little _ cleaner _, the patina of dust not quite as heavy as it had been, but overall it had smelled familiar. Safe. 

He really had thought they would be safe, at least for a while. That Heaven and Hell would leave them alone. _ Stupid _ , he admonishes himself, so stupid to think he would finally get some peace. As if a demon deserves good things.  
  
“You have to get out of here, Angel,” he says in a harsh whisper. If Hell has devised some new punishment for him, he will face it, but he’s not letting them near Aziraphale again.  
  
“Crowley?” Aziraphale hesitates, his eyes scanning the empty shop. Crowley wants to shout at him, anything to get him to leave, but he doesn’t get a chance before Aziraphale starts babbling.

“Oh. Oh, dear. I know what’s wrong. You don’t have to worry dear, it’s nothing awful, it’s just-- I just-- Here, come inside, let me show you.”  
  
Crowley narrows his eyes at Aziraphale. “What did you do?”  
  
Aziraphale wrings his hands, and his worried expression does little to ease Crowley’s panic. He reaches out to place a hand on Crowley’s arm and leads him through the shop, all the way into a corner of the back room.  
  
There’s a box on the floor, with a tartan blanket inside. Crowley stares at it dumbly, and then the blanket starts _ moving _, a small head emerging and-- 

“Is that a _ hellhound _?!” Crowley splutters, shooting a disbelieving look at Aziraphale.  
  
“I-- yes,” Aziraphale confirms, shifting uneasily.  
  
“You. You _ stole _ a hellhound? What the Heaven were you thinking?!” Crowley hisses, eyes skittering around the room as if he’s afraid that the legions of Hell will arrive at any moment to take it back.  
  
“_No_,” Aziraphale protests, and Crowley glares at him. “Well, not really,” Aziraphale amends. “They were going to kill him, Crowley.”  
  
Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose, before he looks at the pup again. It’s very small for a hellhound, clearly a runt, so Aziraphale’s defence is definitely true.  
  
“Okay, yes, _ fine_,” Crowley starts, working up to a lecture as Aziraphale bends down to pick up the pup. Then he promptly forgets what he meant to say, when the pup sniffs at Aziraphale’s chin before wriggling up to lick the angel’s face, and Aziraphale laughs, his face lighting up like sunshine. 

"What if you had been caught?" he asks instead, exasperated.  
  
“You would have done the same thing,” Aziraphale says, eyes intent on Crowley’s as he cradles the pup close to his chest.  
  
Crowley could protest, but Aziraphale has that smug look that boasts of how well he _ knows _ Crowley.  
  
“‘Course. Stealing from Hell. Positively diabolic, that is,” Crowley says anyway, but it holds none of the heat he normally summons when Aziraphale accuses him of being kind.  
  
“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says with a knowing smile, and hands him the pup.  
  
The pup stills for a moment, carefully sniffing at him. Its black eyes search his face, and it cocks its head to the side. 

“What?” He grumbles, slightly unsettled by the pup’s searching eyes - it reminds him of Aziraphale, the way it looks like it’s trying to puzzle him out.  
  
Aziraphale touches his hand; the pup starts wagging its tail excitedly as the angel moves a couple of steps closer.  
  
Crowley knows that feeling. He’s been figuratively wagging his tail at Aziraphale for several millennia.  
  
“I thought-” Aziraphale starts, his gaze darting between Crowley’s face and the pup. “I thought maybe we could… raise it. Together.”  
  
_ Together _ . Crowley blinks at Aziraphale, stunned. He’s vaguely aware that this is a thing humans do - they get pets _ together _ ; he thinks it’s some sort of precursor to having children. Human customs are odd like that.  
  
He and Aziraphale will never have children, of course. But Aziraphale’s face is all nervous sincerity, and his eyes are so gentle; he definitely means “raise it together” in the human sense. 

Crowley tries to respond, but all he manages is an unintelligible noise. Aziraphale is still smiling at him, shy and hopeful, and Crowley is gripped by a sudden desire to kiss him. _Careful now, don't go too fast_, he admonishes himself, conscious of the danger of taking more than Aziraphale is offering. He clears his throat instead.  
  
“Yes, I mean, yeah, we could, we could do that,” he rambles, and Aziraphale’s smile grows while the pup starts licking Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s throat constricts in a really strange way - sometimes the reactions of this human corporation are still a mystery - and he feels a swell of emotion he can’t quite identify. 

“What do you want to call him?” Crowley asks, struggling to keep his voice even.  
  
“I was thinking… Crepe?” Aziraphale says, reaching out to pet the pup’s head.  
  
Trust Aziraphale to name a dog after _ food _, Crowley thinks, fondly. He’s about to protest, but then his mind conjures up a memory of Aziraphale - dressed in the garb of the French Revolution - tucking into crepes and smiling openly at Crowley. No pretense at animosity, because Crowley just saved him from discorporation. 

Crowley looks down at the pup in his arms. The pup is looking up at him expectantly - as if it’s waiting for his word. Hellhounds are normally loyal to only one Master, but this one seems like it already knows it belongs to them both. 

“That’s not a very Hellish name, is it? It’s meant to be something scary, Angel, like Stalks-By-Night, that’s a proper hellhound name, that,” Crowley tries, but he can’t quite stop a smile from giving him away. 

Aziraphale just tsks at him, his attention pointedly directed at the pup. He kisses its head and lets the pup lick his cheek. 

“Oh, alright then,” Crowley gives in, not in the right mood to keep up a charade of evil (it's not his fault, angels who look like actual sunshine don't exactly inspire wicked thoughts - well, not in _that_ sense, at least). 

The pup starts wriggling in his grasp, and Crowley sets it down on the floor. It barks once and runs in a circle, before it starts changing in front of their very eyes, shrinking as its fur turns golden and curly.  
  
“Oh,” Aziraphale says, stunned.  
  
“Told you,” Crowley mutters. The pup - _ Crepe _ \- sits on the floor looking up at them, tail wagging so enthusiastically that it’s drumming against the floorboards. He wonders if they should maybe call Adam and ask his advice on caring for dogs which are secretly hellhounds.  
  
Crowley is so distracted by Crepe that he doesn’t notice Aziraphale leaning in to kiss his cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but he rests his head against Crowley’s chest when Crowley draws him closer. They watch as Crepe yips and continues to scamper in circles. Aziraphale laughs, and it reverberates through Crowley’s chest. Crowley feels that swell of emotion again.

Later, after they’ve had a few glasses of wine, and Crowley is stretched on the sofa with his head in Aziraphale’s lap and Crepe tucked against his side, Crowley finally identifies the feeling. It’s love, it’s belonging, it’s home; it’s _ family _.

**Author's Note:**

> For fun info: I imagine Crepe being a [golden long haired dashhound](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f1/e0/63/f1e063886f9bee5381ca63277f183f87.jpg). 
> 
> Also, feel free to [come say hi on Tumblr](https://ragingrainbow.tumblr.com/)! I'm always happy to make new fandom friends or take prompts. :)


End file.
